


Fire's In Your Eyes

by helloearthlings



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Attempt at Humor, Fluff, M/M, Theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 01:57:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloearthlings/pseuds/helloearthlings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has been coerced by Morgana into volunteering at the local community theatre. He was expecting to hate it. He wasn't expecting Merlin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire's In Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my excuse for not updating Kings and Queens. I've worked very hard on this; if no one likes it I may cry. So please humor me and read.

Morgana was a manipulative, conniving shrew and if she was born in the seventeenth century, she probably would have been burned at the stake for practicing black magic.

Seriously though, Arthur was certain that his sister was an evil mastermind. Her glares alone could move mountains. He had the unfortunate habit of being on the receiving end of those infamous glares far too often. Her most recent use of this supernatural power had landed Arthur in his current situation of anger, frustration, and general sulkiness.

See, while during the winter months, Morgana was a simple drama teacher at the local secondary school. Much to their father’s chagrin, by the way; Uther thought she was wasting her life away pointlessly. Arthur personally didn’t agree with him, seeing as how it was Morgana’s life and she seemed to enjoy her profession, but there were times where he could see where his father was coming from.

For instance, right at that very second.

Because Morgana did not take her summers off. Oh, no. Each and every time July rolled around, she would join the local community theatre for two months, putting on a show stopping musical in the company of other lonely theatre geeks, without earning a dime.

Which led to Arthur’s current predicament, for this year, Morgana had been selected as the show’s director. And she needed _help_. Help that apparently translated into workaholic younger brothers who “needing something fun in their lives.”

Direct quote.

Arthur resented the implication that he never had a good time. He went out for drinks with Leon every Friday, he had pointed out to her in an attempt to stop her from dragging him into her mess. But according to Morgana, his best friend had the same problem Arthur did, leading to Leon being roped into the madness as well.

Leon wasn’t too pleased with Arthur at the moment.

Morgana had not-so-graciously informed them that they were to report to the theatre where the community’s own reigned supreme during the months of July and August at six o’clock sharp, Monday night. Or else. Neither of them was thick enough to refuse her, for she could most likely kill both of them in their sleep with nothing more than her pinky fingernail.

That was how Arthur found himself hunched over in a seat in the front row of a tiny box of a theatre (the stage was barely raised off the ground, there were probably fifteen rows of seats, and the light and sound booths were mere inches from the back row of seats), cursing Morgana’s name repeatedly. Leon, luckily, was at his side to help him through this horrifying twist of events.

“C’mon, Arthur, it can’t be too bad,” Leon tried and failed to sound optimistic. They were the only two in the theatre, which made his voice echo slightly. “And she really does need the help. The budget for this show doesn’t accommodate much.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Arthur grumbled under his breath, not recognizing that it was a valid point. “I guess. Still, it’d be decent of her to actually show up after commanding our presence on threat of death.”

“I’m here, brother dearest, no need to fret,” Arthur’s eyes flickered to his right to see Morgana purposefully striding through the side door of the theatre that led onto the stage, bringing a brief reprieve of sunlight in her wake before the door slammed shut behind her, plunging them all in semi-darkness once more. If there had been an audience seated, she would have stolen the show with her ebony hair, milky complexion, and smoldering gaze. Behind her trailed another young woman, this one shorter, with darker skin and cascading chocolate curls.

“It’s about time,” Arthur focused his attention back on Morgana. “Least you could do is get here on time.”

Morgana rolled her eyes as she threw her purse into the seat next to Leon. “Yes, yes, I know I’m taking valuable time away from your busy schedule of Chinese takeaway and Doctor Who reruns.”

Arthur fumed, mainly because she was right. He would also have been crunching numbers in his head from his day at work, but that point did nothing but validate Morgana’s claim that he needed a hobby, so he kept quiet.

“Where are my manners?” Morgana continued. “Arthur, Leon, this is Gwen Du Lac. She’s our accompanist for the show.” 

“Hi,” Arthur raised a hand in greeting, Leon mimicking him. Unlike them, Gwen actually looked pleased to be there, a smile present on her pretty, delicate features. Arthur would have made the assumption that she was a friend of Morgana’s, except Morgana did not have “friends”, only a legion of minions to carry out her heart’s every desire.

“Arthur is going to be running lights for the show and Leon will be in the sound booth.”

Arthur’s head jerked almost comically in Morgana’s direction, nearly cracking with the surprising speed. “What? I didn’t agree to do lights.” He would deny anything said about his voice escalating an octave or two in those sentences.

“But you did agree to help,” Morgana pointed out, her smile vindictive. “And what I need help with is the lights.”

“When you say ‘agreed’,” Arthur began hotly, but Leon cut off what would have probably been a long and angry tirade with a silencing look.

“We’ll help in any way we can,” he assured her. She granted him a genuine smile that was returned in full. Arthur almost scoffed; Leon would do anything for a pretty face. Not that Morgana was pretty. Arthur often spent time telling her just how pitifully ugly she really was, but if there was one thing his sister excelled it, it was ignoring what other people thought of her.

“Erm, it was nice meeting the two of you,” Gwen looked a tad uncomfortable and out of place among the argument, and Arthur really couldn’t blame her. “But I think I’m going to check on my sheet music, make sure it’s all there if I need it.”

“Go right ahead,” Morgana waved in the direction of the rickety piano that was situated on the left side of the stage. Gwen followed her hand, taking the stack of music books seated atop the instrument and paging through them slowly.

Arthur deviated his attention from her and once more began to plead with Morgana. Well, he preferred not to think of it as pleading; more of a manly beg. “So why do you need us tonight? You won’t need any of the tech stuff until later on in the show.” Growing up with the theatre freak that Morgana was, he _had_ actually picked up on a few snippets of information about the process of how a putting on a play was gone about.

Morgana sighed, clucking her tongue in a sympathetic fashion that frustrated Arthur to no end. He was not an insolent five year old, thank you very much!

“Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. This is a community theatre group. _Community._ We’re like a family here. Where one of us goes, we all go. I’ve known these people for years. And tonight are auditions, time to select our family members for the next two months. It’s extremely important for you to be here, nearly theatre _law_.”

Arthur had the distinct feeling he was going to hate this theatre before his prison sentence here came to a close. “Fine,” he relented with a glare, knowing it was a lost cause. Every argument he had with Morgana seemed to be. She was far too conniving for her own good. “Do you need me to do anything for you right now, your highness, or can I sit here and wallow in self-pity for a few extra minutes?”

“No pitying tonight!” Morgana grinned, victorious. “Gwen will be warming up on the piano any minute now, and I’ll need to show Leon how to work the CD player, seeing as how he has to do that tonight if the people auditioning don’t have sheet music. Arthur, you can go sit at the front table. There are forms to fill out there; give them to anyone that comes in and tell them to return them back to you once they’re done.”

“Alright,” Arthur replied half-heartedly as he heard a few opening piano notes from behind him. Leon followed Morgana up the staircase to the booth on the left, which meant Arthur would be spending most of his time in the right one. Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

He remembered seeing the folding table that housed the audition forms when he came into the building earlier; there was a small, narrow hallway that led from the front door around the bend to the stage, and the table was situated at the very front of that hallway, just inside the door, in the small nook of an entryway. He headed there, wishing that he was back in the outside world and not trapped in this box. Arriving at the table, Arthur found a chair leaning against the wall behind it. Pulling it forward to face the doorway, he settled down to wait for Morgana’s cronies.

Slightly curious, he slid one of the forms over to his line of vision so that he could scan it briefly. He noted that the show that was being put on was Les Misérables – Morgana hadn’t bothered to inform him of this important fact, which would have been appreciated. Arthur had gone to the show once before while visiting a friend in London; it was enjoyable while slightly depressing, seeing as how the vast majority of the characters were killed off by the time the curtain closed. Leave it to the morbidly depressing Morgana to choose _this_ play.

 The questions typed out on the sheet were ordinary enough – Name, contact information, vocal range, their role of choice and the like. An easy process certainly, nothing that would strain the mind or the muscles. But what else could be expected from a community theatre department?

Arthur’s ears perked up at the sound of the front door swinging open. He was graced with a beam of sunlight momentarily, but it didn’t last particularly long, a highly unfortunate circumstance. He straightened his spine at the appearance of two young men coming indoors and stopping directly in front of his table.

The first one to enter was extremely tall and freakishly muscled, the man behind him shorter and so good-looking it was almost unfair, what with long curly black hair falling just under his ears and a tanned complexion. Arthur gave the tall man the sheet that he had previously been reading off of and grabbed another one off of the stack for the other.

“Bring them back when you’re done,” he told them. The first man gave him a polite nod before heading down the hallway and into the theatre where Morgana was most assuredly waiting. The handsome one, however, reached out a hand to shake. Arthur took it.

“I’m Lancelot Du Lac,” he introduced himself with an easy-going smile. “That was Percival Jones. He’s just a bit nervous; otherwise he would’ve stuck around to chat. What’s your name? Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

Of course these two were regulars. Of course. Arthur did try to be as polite as he could, though, since this Lancelot bloke seemed a decent enough type, if on the talkative side. “No wonder, seeing as how I’ve never been here until tonight. Are you Gwen’s husband? Or brother?”

“Husband,” Lancelot replied, his smile growing softer around the edges as if he was mentally reliving their wedding or something of that sappy and romantic nature. All the handsome ones were taken, Arthur thought sullenly. “Is Gwen here?”

“Yeah, came in with Morgana a few minutes ago,” Arthur waved a hand down the hall, where he could still hear the faint noises of an instrument being tuned. He didn’t recognize the song, but that was only to be expected from the distance between the piano and his ear.

“Thank you,” Lancelot’s tone was friendly as he raised a hand in parting. “Nice meeting you, Arthur. I’d better go talk to Gwen quick before we start.”

“Nice meeting you, too!” Arthur called to his retreating form. And it wasn’t entirely a lie. Lancelot was pleasant. Perhaps if there were more members of the cast like him, Arthur wouldn’t entirely hate them on principal. However, he was certain his wish would be in vain. He shuddered visibly at the recollection of some of Morgana’s drama group friends back in their school days. One did not know the definition of annoying until forced to spend a dinner in their presence, where they could not shut up for even five seconds about whatever shit play was being performed this time and how perfect they would be for the part of insert-role-here.

After a few minutes of stewing about terrible memories involving both Morgana and theatre, it became apparent to Arthur that with the silence of his surroundings and lack of visitors, Lancelot and Percival had simply gotten here early, for no one else had arrived as of yet.

The only lull in the boredom was Percival coming back to return his and Lancelot’s now filled out forms. A short conversation had followed; Percival, while it was now more obvious to Arthur that he was nervous what with the man wringing his hands constantly, seemed to be on the same page as Lancelot in his book. Arthur had ended up revealing to him that he was Morgana’s brother and Percival had winced in a sympathetic manner. Good man.

Other than that brief interlude, Arthur was nearly falling asleep. Patience was a virtue that he did not possess even the slightest grain of. However, the monotony was broken quickly with a new and chaotic arrival.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Arthur’s gaze snapped up as the door propelled open with much more force than usual, bringing with it a gust of air and the appearance of a stumbling figure that was cursing like a sailor. “Fucking hell!”

Instead of a customary smile and handshake, Arthur was greeted with the figure flying headlong through the doorway and directly into toward him. He tried to dive out of the way of the person’s warpath, but his reflexes were a second too slow. The figure crashed into the table, and be default, into Arthur.

He suddenly became aware of a scalding feeling on his chest. Looking down, he saw that the figure had been carrying a cup of coffee that, as he fell through the door, was dumped onto Arthur’s white v-neck. There was a dark brown stain spreading readily across it.

“What the hell?” Arthur looked up into a pair of electric blue eyes.

There was a man leaning across the table – well, more like still half-fallen across the table – and looking at Arthur with a sheepish, apologetic grin. He looked a bit younger than Arthur, possibly taller and much skinnier, with a shock of messy raven hair and cheekbones that would probably cut glass. There was an empty coffee cup in his left hand that was still dripping steadily onto Arthur’s shirt.

“I was trying to miss the table?” The man suggested with a guilty glance down at Arthur’s t-shirt, standing back up fully. Arthur’s stomach bubbled with annoyance as he stood up as well, angrily gesturing at the coffee spill. As if his day hadn’t been bad enough.

“So you aim for me?” He snapped with a glare. The man had the decency to look abashed. “Nice. Smart. Real classy.”

“Look, I’m sorry, mate.” The man’s hands were raised in the ‘don’t shoot’ position. “I just knew I was going to fall and I didn’t want to spill on the papers.”

“I’m not your mate,” Arthur snarled automatically in response. “You’re a klutz.”

“Oh, wow, I’m so very sorry that I tripped and fell, your fucking majesty,” He replied, voice dripping with sarcastic venom. “And in my attempt not to ruin your paperwork, I accidentally spilled on you. There’s no need to be such a prick about it.”

“I’m being a prick? Me!” Arthur was scandalized at this person’s nerve. Who was he to come in and insult Arthur just after spilling a full cup of hot, burning liquid on him? “I’m not the one who –”

“Arthur, what are you doing now?” Morgana’s voice floated toward them. Before Arthur could properly react, his sister rounded appeared round the bend that led to the hallway. Arthur was expecting her to tell him off, tell the other man off, or tell of both of them at once, but instead, and quite unexpectedly, her face broke into a gigantic smile.

“Merlin!”

“Huh?” Arthur voiced his confusion as Morgana launched herself at the man – Merlin, apparently – embracing him in a large and warm hug. He looked at the pair incredulously; Merlin looked just as happy to see Morgana, for he welcomed her hug readily.

Morgana turned to face Arthur a moment later, a laugh hissing from her mouth as she noticed his current state of coffee-stained splendor.

“Did you do this, Merlin?” She was obviously holding back more laughter, causing Arthur to scowl again.

“Er, yeah,” Merlin winced. “Sorry. I didn’t realize he was one of yours.”

 _One of yours?_ Arthur thought with varying degrees of incredulity present in his mind. _What’s that supposed to mean?_

“He’s my little brother,” Morgana informed him happily. “I love it when tragedy strikes him. I see you haven’t grown any more coordinated since the last time I saw you?”

“Not really,” Merlin’s expression was somewhere between ashamed and ecstatic, which made Arthur hate him all the more.

“So,” Arthur inserted himself into the conversation, not wanting to be in the dark any longer. “You two know each other, then?”

“When we did Wicked last year, he was the Fiyero to my Elphaba,” Morgana told him, linking her arm with Merlin’s. “Haven’t seen him since, the bugger. Always so busy.”

“That’s me,” Merlin’s tone took on a joking quality. “The life of a graduate student. I’ve barely any time to breathe.”

“Still determined to avoid a career in theatre?” Morgana gave a tut. “You could make it big if you wanted, Merlin. Best actor in the whole damn show, you were.”

Merlin blushed crimson while Arthur glared in what he hoped was a menacing manner. Two against one just wasn’t fair.

Morgana, noticing his expression, rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Arthur, you’re like a maiden who just had her virtue affronted. Go and mope if you like, I can handle the forms.”

“Here, _mate,_ ” Merlin emphasized as Arthur took a step toward the narrow hall that led back into the theatre, where hopefully he could go complain to Leon about how unfair life was. Merlin halted him for a second, however; he shrugged off his jacket, an atrocious military-style frock that looked so beaten and worn down that Arthur was certain it had once belonged to a homeless man. “If you’re so bothered about the coffee, cover it with this.”

He tossed the coat to Arthur, who caught it easily with one hand. Their eyes met for a moment; Merlin’s were smirking shamelessly. Arthur gave him the evil eye once more before striding back down the hall and into the theatre without a response.

Merlin was most definitely an arsehole, and Arthur was most definitely going to hold a grudge. And he could win a grudge match; Arthur’s animosity toward certain people could survive the apocalypse.

There was a distinct feeling that this wouldn’t end with the jacket. 

* * *

 

Half an hour later, Arthur was still silently fuming.

And he was still holding Merlin’s jacket in his fist. But obviously not wearing it. He’d rather be seen with a brown coffee stain than give his new nemesis that kind of satisfaction, thank you very much.

Back to his previous seat in the front row of the theatre, Arthur was anxiously awaiting the auditions to begin. More and more people had trickled in as time went on, and each and every one of them seemed to be acquainted with each other. Morgana’s analogy about the theatre folk being a family was not an exaggeration.

However, Arthur only knew Leon and Morgana, unless you counted those he had only met today, and Leon was up preparing in the sound booth for his role in tonight’s auditions. Lights were not needed tonight, thank fuck. Arthur didn’t think he could deal with having to learn anything new tonight.

It seemed as though his period of sulking would have to come to a close – a great misfortune indeed, as sulking, as sulking was one of his great talents – for Morgana was heading toward the stage from her previous position of leaning against the wall, glancing studiously about the room, a silent judgment of them all. She cleared her throat loudly, causing all eyes in the room to snap to her and effectively muting the conversations between the audience members.

“Welcome everyone, for this year’s auditions for Les Misérables!” Morgana looked far too chipper for her ordinary self, although the rest of the room gave a polite smattering of applause, which Arthur reluctantly contributed to.

Morgana was still talking. “I’ll be calling your name, at which point you should either bring sheet music up to the lovely Guinevere,” she gestured toward the piano, and Gwen gave a slight wave and a nervous smile. “Or give a CD to Leon up in the sound booth. You’re welcome to sing acapella if that’s your thing, though. Once you’ve finished singing, you’re free to go, although if you feel like sticking around to watch, you’re more than welcome to”

She glanced down at the small stack of filled out sheets that were clutched in her perfectly manicured hands. “First up, we have Percival Jones.”

It seemed as though the auditions would be ordered in appearance at the theatre. Either an award or a curse for their promptness, depending on how the crowd auditioning saw it. The heavily muscled Percival, whom Arthur would have never pegged for a singer, more of a rugby fellow, strode down the staircase, passing by Arthur as he did so. He looked less anxious than before, which meant that Arthur would not be puked on, for which he was thankful indeed. He headed to center stage after handing Gwen a piece of music that she placed on her stand, spreading out the three sheets of paper so that all were all in her vision.

Gwen played a few chords with delicate fingers before Percival began belting out the first verse of a song that sounded as if it was from the Lion King or something of that nature. Although Arthur was by no means an expert in music, he could tell that the man had a decent voice, and Morgana was even smiling by the end of it, which was either a very good sign or a very bad one.

Next up was Lancelot, who introduced himself briefly before beginning his piece, which was One Song Glory from Rent.

So maybe Arthur had seen Rent. And maybe he’d enjoyed it, too. And maybe both of those facts could be buried deep within the recesses of his past and never mentioned again, particularly in the presence of Morgana. She adored Rent; Arthur had always told her it was pathetically stupid. She would crow on about it for _years_ if she heard that Arthur had watched the movie. More than once.

Lancelot had actually done very well, in Arthur’s inexperienced opinion. His baritone was smooth and melodious, drawing in the audience easily. He already knew that a lead role easily belonged to Lancelot, who blushed profusely when the crowd applauded at the end of the section of the piece that was sung.

The third time Morgana’s mouth opened, Arthur knew whose name would issue from her lips. He braced himself by clenching his fists – not a good idea, the jacket was still crumpled in his left one – and attempting to stay calm.

Calmness, however, had never really been a strong suit for him.

Sure enough, the next words out of Morgana’s mouth were “Merlin Emrys!”

Merlin arrived onstage instantaneously, as if he’d been patiently awaiting his opportunity to spring into action. He even had the audacity to be beaming as he leaned over the piano to hand Gwen a few sheets of music.

Now that he wasn’t wearing the overlarge military jacket that Arthur was trying his hardest to ignore the coarse material of, Arthur noticed that Merlin was slim to an extreme, all angles in just a plain red t-shirt and skinny jeans. Still, it wasn’t a fragile and docile kind of skinny. It was more like I-may-not-be-able-to-beat-you-to-a-pulp-but-I-do-know-Judo kind of slimness about him.

Arthur shook the thought out of his mind as he focused back on the stage, where Merlin had returned to standing in the center, speaking clearly to the room in earnest.

“Hi, I’m Merlin Emrys, and against my better judgment,” he gave a loud, faux cough that sounded suspiciously like the word ‘Gwaine’. Quite a few people in the audience chuckled; Arthur figured it was a theatre inside joke that he would never properly understand. “I’ll be singing Mister Cellophane from Chicago.”

He nodded toward Gwen, who began to play a quirky, upbeat tune until Merlin held up a hand to stop her.

“Sorry, I should have said, could you please play the intro for me?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at the unprofessional behavior, glancing at Morgana for affirmance in his theory. There was none to be found, however, for Morgana was covering her mouth with her hand, trying to stop giggling. _Giggling_. Morgana did not giggle. Ever.

“Sure,” Gwen grinned at Merlin, who formed his hands in the shape of a heart before pointing at her, which in Arthur’s opinion, was unbelievably cheesy. He sought out Lancelot in the crowd, wondering if there would be signs of jealousy at the blatant flirting with his wife. After locating him in the third row, though, Arthur was shocked to see that there wasn’t the slightest trace of ill feelings present on the other man’s face. In fact, he was grinning fondly up at the pair onstage.

What the hell? Did Merlin have some kind of enchantment placed on the whole theatre to cause them to fall in love with him immediately and Arthur was the only one immune? It seemed a likely idea, for who would voluntarily have a liking for this clumsy coffee-spiller up onstage if not for the work of dark magic? If this was the case, his and Morgana’s camaraderie would make much more sense. They were both evil sorcerers sent to destroy the world as the mere mortals knew it.

These thoughts were driven out of his head as Merlin opened his mouth to begin singing.

“ _If someone stood up in a crowd, and raised his voice up way out loud, and waved his arm and shook his leg; you’d notice him!_ ” Merlin’s tenor was loud, clear, confident, and precise as he strode about the stage, gesturing emphatically with his hands as he did so. Arthur almost caught himself chuckling.

“ _If someone in the movie show yelled ‘Fire in the second row! This whole place is a powder keg!’”_ Here, Merlin’s voice transitioned into a frantic yell as he shook his hands at the audience frantically, causing more than one laugh before he slid back into song. “ _You’d notice him._ ”

“ _And even without clucking like a hen, everyone gets noticed now and then. Unless that personage should be, invisible inconsequential me!”_ Merlin’s voice wavered slightly at the end of the phrase. Arthur almost punched the air in victory, finally finding a flaw in the man’s performance. It was only a second later that he realized Merlin was playing his character. Fuck.

 _“Cellophane, Mister Cellophane, should have been my name,_ ” Merlin sang out as he waltzed across the stage in a lackadaisical manner. _“Mister Cellophane, ‘cause you can look right through me, walk right by me, and never even know I’m there…_ ”

Merlin faded out with a flourishing bow and a beaming smile as the room applauded.

Even Arthur had to begrudgingly admit, although he would have to suffer through agonizing hours of torture before ever voicing it out loud, that Merlin’s performance was good. Very good. He knew that the title Mister Cellophane would be the last phrase he would use to describe Merlin, for however annoyingly insulting he might be, it was impossible not to take notice of him.

It was only a dozen or so mediocre performances later that Arthur, after scanning the full theatre behind him briefly, came to the realization that Merlin had departed the premises without coming to Arthur to reclaim his jacket.

* * *

 

It took a good part of twenty-four hours for Arthur to swallow his pride and ask Morgana for Merlin’s phone number. She cackled at him for a good five minutes, giving Arthur further proof to back his theory of her general witchy-ness.  She had given him the number, but only after a fair share of Morgana-esque jokes that did not bear repeating in Arthur’s book.

He had considered the merits of keeping the jacket, a fair trade for the ruined t-shirt that Arthur still needed to get dry-cleaned, but the rumpled black military coat was contaminating his flat. It was so out of place among Arthur’s neat and clean business jackets that it drew Arthur’s attention away from more important things, like planning for the next day’s staff meeting.

He caved; he texted Merlin late Sunday evening. He had Sundays off of work, so he had basically spent the day in a horizontal position on the couch eating leftover pizza, one of his favorite hobbies, and trying to find alternatives to coming in direct contact with Merlin again. Then came the realization that this was like a band-aide – Best rip it off now and get the pain over with. So he shot Merlin a message with an overdramatic sigh at his phone.

_8:16 PM_

_To: Merlin Emrys_

_From: Arthur Pendragon_

_This is Arthur, Morgana’s brother. You forgot your jacket, idiot_

_8:20 PM_

_To: Arthur Pendragon_

_From: Merlin Emrys_

_Oh fuck I just noticed uh wanna give it 2 Morgana? She can get it 2 me once rehearsals start_

Arthur frowned at the blurry text on his Blackberry screen. As far as he knew, Morgana hadn’t even cast the show at all yet. She most definitely hadn’t spoken to those that auditioned about the final casting list. Merlin was obviously overconfident in his abilities.

Except that wasn’t exactly justified, for although Arthur was not keen to admit to it, Merlin’s audition had been one of the best of the night. Easily. There had been a man named Tristan about midway through the list that had been impressive, but nowhere near as entertaining as Merlin had been during his rendition of Mister Cellophane.

Arthur opted to inform Merlin of his first thought, for that was the ruder one and Merlin was a rude person. It made perfect sense. In Arthur’s mind.

_8:23 PM_

_To: Merlin Emrys_

_From: Arthur Pendragon_

_I’ll be at rehearsals 2 u no. And wow cocky much? Already think you’re getting a part?_

_8:25 PM_

_To: Arthur Pendragon_

_From: Merlin Emrys_

_You mean I have 2 deal with you again?!?Oh no. jk. Sort of. And I’m gonna get a part. Not 2 play the favoritism card or anything, but being friends with the director does help your cause_

_8:29 PM_

_To: Merlin Emrys_

_From: Arthur Pendragon_

_And you say I’m a prick. Should I be lecturing u on assaulting my sister’s virtue?_

_8:30 PM_

_To: Arthur Pendragon_

_From: Merlin Emrys_

_God no. she’s not exactly my type and even if she was, I think she’d kill me within the first week_

_8:32 PM_

_To: Merlin Emrys_

_From: Arthur Pendragon_

_Very true. So what about your jacket?_

_8:35 PM_

_To: Arthur Pendragon_

_From: Merlin Emrys_

_Just bring it 2 rehearsals next week. Unless you’ll be at our cast read-through on Thursday?_

_8:37 PM_

_To: Merlin Emrys_

_From: Arthur Pendragon_

_I’ll swing by – if u get a part._

_8:38 PM_

_To: Arthur Pendragon_

_From: Merlin Emrys_

_Oh ye of little faith. And thanks_

Arthur didn’t feel the need to reply after the last exchange, and he threw his phone at the couch cushion in semi-exasperation, attempting ignorance at how his lips had quirked up at more than one of Merlin’s messages. For the most part, they weren’t rude, only teasing, as if Arthur was a friend of Merlin’s that he enjoyed taking the piss out of occasionally. Arthur blocked out the part of his mind that was screaming the word ‘flirty’ repeatedly, for that was a road that did not need any exploration at all.

He glanced over at his coatrack, where Merlin’s weathered down jacket was hanging in a pathetic, drooping manner. He’d have the distraction for another whole four days.

He was surprised to find a part of him that didn’t mind it too much.

* * *

 

Merlin’s assumptions about his own talent proved to be correct. Morgana’s group e-mail to the cast and crew of the show announcing the cast list arrived in Arthur’s inbox two days after his and Merlin’s agreement.  Merlin had scored the part of Marius, the lucky bastard.

Arthur also took note that Lancelot had taken the part of Javert and Percival would be Enjolras, so he was right in assuming that they would both be leads. Jean Valjean would be played by a man named Tristan Volk, and Arthur was about sixty percent certain that his girlfriend, Isolde, would be playing Fantine. The rest of the cast he just skimmed through briefly, taking note of names he recognized, of which there were few.

Arthur was glad that Merlin would be playing such a large role, but then forced himself to scowl. Despite how friendly (flirty) their conversation had been, the man had still stained his favorite shirt. Not to mention his insults, that persisted through the text messages. Merlin was insufferable. Intriguing, yes, but insufferable.

So it was begrudgingly that Arthur took time out of his busy Thursday schedule – heading an entire branch of his father’s company was a stressful line of work – and headed to the theatre, where the cast would be coming together for the first time to read through the show. Well, Arthur mused, if it was a musical, wasn’t it technically a sing-through?

Didn’t matter either way. Arthur wasn’t staying; he was simply dropping off Merlin’s overlarge black monstrosity of a jacket and then making himself scarce until a presence in the lighting booth was absolutely necessary.

 The box of a theatre appeared even smaller on the outside, which was surely a feat to be accomplished, Arthur reflected as he parked his car on the opposite side of the street and hurried across the busy avenue. He knew that he was a few minutes late, therefore removing the option of slipping in and out unnoticed, which was what he would prefer.

He pushed the theatre door open and at once, the bright sunny day became dim, black, and cold. Well, Arthur had finally found out why Morgana found theatre so appealing. Both she and her passion sucked the life out of whoever was with them.

He followed the narrow hallway down toward the stage and heard the echoes of voices as he clutched Merlin’s jacket in his left hand. He turned the corner to see a semi-large group of actors, ranging in multiple ages and appearances, all of them from the previous Friday’s auditions. They were all randomly seated throughout the audience of the theatre, facing the stage where Morgana was speaking, her voice low and commanding.

“Alright, so we’re going to start from the top…” Her voice faltered as she took notice of Arthur standing awkwardly in the entryway and her forehead creased in confusion. “Arthur. What are you doing here? We don’t need you until Monday.”

“Pressuring me into working, complaining when I show up,” Arthur rolled his eyes. “Not here for you, Morgana.”

His eyes sought Merlin out in the crowd of faces. He found him sitting on the edge of the third row seated next to a shaggy-haired man Arthur vaguely recognized from auditions. Merlin pulled himself up out of his seat in one swift movement and took a step toward Arthur with a hand outstretched.

“Thanks, _mate_ ,” Merlin once again emphasized the word, causing Arthur to give him an exasperated look that was greeted with a cheeky smile.

Arthur thrust out the jacket with more malice than he had anticipated. Merlin took it nonetheless, despite the low wolf-whistle coming from the other man sitting next to him, and a catcall of “Go, Merlin.”

“Shut up, Gwaine,” Merlin said with the air of a person who dealt with such comments on an hourly basis. Arthur just turned an unseemly crimson color. Other members of the cast were snickering and giggling alike, causing Arthur to scowl up at them as a whole. Merlin was mimicking him as he returned to his seat, shoving his friend, Gwaine, less than lightly as he sunk into his seat, avoiding Arthur’s eye.

“Anything you want to share with the class, Arthur?” Morgana’s smirk was all the more infuriating since she was the only one there with distinct knowledge that nothing had happened between Arthur and Merlin other than a heated argument.

Arthur just flipped her off as he stalked back down the hallway and away from the prying eyes of the theatre groupies. A stellar first impression, surely.

Not that he cared or anything.

* * *

 

Arthur attempted to put Les Misérables from his mind for the weekend. There were no rehearsals, at least not any when his attendance was required, and there were no other possessions to be returned to clumsy strangers. Arthur had considered telling Merlin that he was to pay the dry-cleaning bill for his shirt, but then decided that he’d faced enough embarrassment at the dark-haired man’s hand and didn’t want to add another instance to the list.

Still, come Monday evening, Arthur found himself up in the lighting booth in a spindly chair facing the stage, with an instruction manual for the many-buttoned panel sitting in front of him that he had no idea how to even begin to put into use.

Luckily for him, he didn’t actually have to _use_ the machine yet, or even the spotlights, just follow along with his cues (which were handwritten by Morgana, attached to the instruction booklet), as the actors and actresses blocked the show. Today was the day to determine which button did what.

With the blocking due to start any minute – the stage was filled with the cast milling around waiting for Morgana to call them to attention – Arthur began to read the instructions, cursing Morgana’s name as he went. The words were so foreign it was almost like reading Elvish. Not that he would ever admit that to her, because Arthur Pendragon never admits defeat. Ever.

If anything were to best him, though, it would be this damn switchboard.

“Attention!” Arthur’s eyes flickered down to the stage at the sharp crack of Morgana calling her minions to her side. He caught sight of Merlin leaning against one of the stage walls. He was back to wearing the military jacket, which still looked horrendously overlarge on him. He, along with the rest of the cast, all stepped down off of the stage to gather around Morgana in the theatre’s first row, where she was waiting with a clipboard. “So, positions for Act I. Tristan, I need you to enter from stage left...”

Arthur decided to tune out the rest of Morgana’s impending speech in favor of glaring menacingly at the lighting panel, waiting for it to start making sense. He would have tested some of the switches, except that Morgana had forbidden him, saying it would be a distraction to those onstage. And he couldn’t come early, because the group only had the theatre from six o’clock in the evening onward. During the day, it was being used for a children’s summer camp or something of that nature.

Therefore, Arthur could either fumble his way through the lighting with possibly mixed results, or stay until after eight to reconcile with the beast of a switchboard, forfeiting any semblance of sociality that he had left. Not to mention work, which started bright and early each morning without fail, which was something that Arthur really did need to concentrate on. With this show, he would barely have time to breathe anymore.

Arthur sighed, running his hands through his blond locks as he watched Morgana direct the cast across the stage. The night could have been a touch more bearable if Leon was there to suffer alongside him, but the bastard had called in sick. And Morgana had double-checked, it wasn’t actually a lie, he had a bad case of the flu. Stupid Leon. Now Arthur was alone in his torment.

He remained that way for all of two hours, not even bothering to follow along with the show that was going on beneath him. The instruction manual was all gibberish, anyway. Part of him considered telling Morgana he was going to quit, consequences be damned. The other part, the wiser and more experienced part, knew that he would be rereading the manual all night long, decoding its intricacies at the chance that he might have some idea what was going on at the other two rehearsals this week.

Below him, the current rehearsal was moving along at an agonizingly slow pace. Morgana had always said that blocking was the worst part of any show, and Arthur could finally see exactly what she meant. Directing the cast’s every line and movement in the entirety of the play looked frustrating and exhausting on a variety of levels. It wasn’t singing, it wasn’t even acting. It was just a group of frustrated actors and singers wishing that they were actually practicing their craft. They appeared to be moody, tired, and the vast majority of them were scowling.

Merlin, Arthur noticed, seemed to be the exception to this rule. When he entered the stage for the first time at the beginning of Act II, his smile seemed to brighten up the dreary mood of the setting, even as Morgana bossed him around and he penciled in her comments on his copy of the script. His cheerfulness never wavered, even during one of the final scenes where his character, Marius, was supposed to cry as he sang Empty Chairs at Empty Tables. Arthur had no clue how Merlin would possibly pull that scene off when the time came with that infuriating, never-ceasing grin of his.

Finally, just as Arthur’s watch ticked to 8:06, the last line was uttered, the last note sung, and Arthur was contemplating destroying the lighting booth out of spite. That was two hours of his life he’d never get back; not to mention he still remained clueless as to how the switchboard worked and hadn’t even begun to decode the spotlights yet.

The cast was as overjoyed as he was at the closure of the rehearsal. Even Morgana seemed tired as she dismissed all of them with the reminder to be back the next day. Rehearsals ran on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays for the next six weeks, followed by two weeks of actual performances on Friday and Saturday nights. Arthur was expected to turn up at each of them, a thought that made him feel sick to his stomach.

He leaned back in his seat, frowning as he debated staying for a few extra minutes. If he didn’t figure out the panel soon, Morgana would catch onto his ploy and then castrate or have something similarly painful done to him, which was a fate that should be avoided at all costs.

Arthur was jolted out of his stupor by the sound of a knock on the door. He sighed, wheeling his chair forward toward the panel, expecting it to be Morgana demanding a display of his proficiency in lighting. Instead, the door swung open to reveal a sheepishly smiling Merlin clutching a few sheets of paper in his fingers.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Arthur probably sounded incredibly rude, but it wasn’t like Merlin’s impression of him could sink any lower. The other man’s smile dimmed slightly, though, immediately causing a stab of guilt that Arthur did not understand in the slightest.

“I was volunteered,” Merlin said, holding out the papers, which Arthur immediately snatched. “Morgana says that they’re simplified instructions for the switchboard. She thought you might be having a bit trouble.”

“Thank God,” Arthur was so relieved that he didn’t even properly react to Morgana’s obvious insult.

Merlin let out a short laugh. “I was her victim of choice because apparently the entire cast thinks we’re shagging, due to the whole jacket spectacle on Thursday.”

Arthur willed his face not to turn colors, and fought to keep his voice neutral as he glanced upward at Merlin’s smirk. “Is that so?”

“Yep,” Merlin was still grinning down at him. “Gwaine started a bet about what positions we were in.”

Arthur choked on air. “Did you tell them that we haven’t actually slept together?”

“Repeatedly,” Merlin rolled his eyes, but in a fond sort of way. Arthur was beginning to wonder if this was normal protocol for theatre folks and if he would eventually get used to it. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to or not. “But I’ve been friends with Gwaine for five years and his compulsive need to embarrass me has yet to diminish even slightly.”

“Is Gwaine the one with the long hair?” Arthur made an educated guess. “Playing Grantaire?”

“That’s the one,” Merlin nodded in assent. “His role’s not actually too far from the truth. Drunken cynic fits him to a tee.”

Arthur, having no idea how to continue the conversation and also not entirely sure if he wanted to or not, awkwardly waved Morgana’s instructions at him. “Thanks for these, I would have been lost without them.”

“Do you want any help?” Merlin asked. “I used to run lights for shows a few years ago, I know the basic set-up.”

“You’re offering?” Arthur couldn’t help but stare in confusion. Merlin had spilled coffee on him and called him a prick. It was hard to fathom him wanting anything to do with Arthur, let alone volunteering to help him.

“I’m inherently nice to everyone,” Merlin said with a shrug and a helpless grin. “Even if they’re complete prats with egos the size of a small country.”

Arthur scowled at him, but it was half-hearted. “Alright, if you really want to help.”

“Not a problem,” Merlin answered. “Besides, I can’t ignore that whole damsel in distress vibe you have going on.”

“I’m not a damsel!” Arthur was affronted. “I’m the handsome and dashing prince, get your facts straight.”

“Keep telling yourself that and it might just come true,” Merlin teased, dropping into the only other chair in the room, a folding chair that was next to Arthur’s own, as he shut the creaking door behind him. “Until then, I shall continue to rescue you from demons and dragons. Mainly those of the lighting variety, but the point remains.”

“Shut up, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur grumbled, but there was no edge to his voice. “And tell me what to do with this monster.”

Merlin frowned intently down at the panel, pulling his chair forward so that he and Arthur were merely inches apart. He took Morgana’s notes from Arthur’s hands without a word and began to skin them quickly. “Morgana makes this sound much more complicated than it really is.”

“She does that,” Arthur rolled his eyes, causing Merlin to stifle a laugh, which made his stomach do a quick somersault, which he ignored.

“So, really, the only switches you need to worry about are these two,” Merlin pointed to the lever in the upper left corner, gesturing to the one to its immediate right as well, two of a dozen or so.

“And here I was thinking I was going to have to figure out how to use three of these simultaneously,” Arthur groaned loudly, throwing his hands up in the air. “Morgana is far more melodramatic than is good for her.”

“Quality of a great actor,” Merlin quipped. “The drama doesn’t end when you leave the stage.”

“Unfortunately,” Arthur muttered darkly, earning himself a snort from Merlin.

“Just pull up on this switch here to bring the house lights up,” Merlin gestured to the far left switch. “And pull it down to bring them down. The one next to it is for the stage lights. Same process, you’ll just have to adjust it more often. House lights are at the beginning, end, and in between the acts. Stage lights, and the spotlight too, will be different all throughout the show. Luckily we’ve only got one spotlight for you to figure out, eh?”

“You make it sound so simple,” Arthur said, half impressed at Merlin’s easy grasp of the technology and half sullen that he couldn’t decipher the process himself.

“That’s because it is,” Merlin said with a wink. “I –”

He was cut off by the door swinging open once more; the two turned to face Morgana, who was speaking at a rapid fire pace.

“Sorry, Arthur, I was…” She trailed off as she noticed Merlin seated next to Arthur. A malicious smirk began to grow on her face and Arthur cursed his pitiful existence. Morgana would tease him about this for _ages_. Leon, too, if he found out, which knowing Morgana, could be any minute now.

“Hi, Morgana,” Merlin’s voice went up an octave or so and Arthur was pleased to find a pink tint on his cheeks, even though his infuriating smile was still in place. “I was just giving Arthur your instructions. I’ll get out of here, let you two do your sibling…thing, whatever it is.”

“Wait, Merlin,” Arthur surprised himself as Merlin picked himself out of his seat and was about to duck out of the room. “You wanna explain the spotlight to me sometime?”

Arthur had no idea what kind of force possessed him in that moment. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t ever ask for assistance. But there was something different about this time. It was probably Merlin, silly as that sounded, even in Arthur’s head. It didn’t change the fact that there _was_ something very different about Merlin, something Arthur wanted to know.

Merlin, however, didn’t seem to notice what a strange occurrence it was, for he answered easily. “Yeah, sure, I can stay behind for a while tomorrow if you’re free.”

“That’d be great, thanks, mate,” Arthur spoke without thinking and immediately regretted it as Merlin shot him a triumphant smirk at the word ‘mate’ as the door latched behind his retreating figure.

There was a beat of silence before Morgana, with a voice laced with laughter and also probably some kind of poison, said “So you two really are shagging, then?”

“Morgana!”

* * *

 

As Arthur perilously made his way through another day in the office (where he was forced to attend two different board meetings and had to scream at six different people for incompetence), he was shocked to find that he was actually looking forward to the night’s rehearsal. More importantly, he was looking forward to seeing Merlin.

Arthur wasn’t a fool. He knew that he was attracted to Merlin – which no one could really blame him for, what with the eyes and the voice and the hands and the smile, that goddamn _smile_ – but this was something far, far worse than attraction. It was a crush. An actual, fully-fledged teenage-girl crush on the single-most antagonizing person Arthur had ever met. He was fucked, that was for certain.

So when six o’clock rolled around at long last, Arthur’s apprehension was at an all-time high. Walking into The Box (he really hoped Morgana never heard that nickname), he was greeted by a rush of chaotic sound.

“ _And I-I…will always love you!”_ Arthur heard a loud, brash voice crooning. Rounding the corner that led to the stage, he caught sight of a tall, dark-haired woman he knew was named Mithian, actress that played Eponine, grasping a single microphone like a lifeline on center stage with the rest of the cast and crew gathered around her impromptu performance. Apparently, he had gotten here a touch early.

“Isn’t she great?” Arthur jumped at the sudden, raspy whisper in his ear. Merlin had appeared as if by magic at his shoulder, giving him a wicked grin at the elicited response. “She’s a theatre major at uni down in London. Gonna be a star someday, I’m calling it now.”

“And you won’t be?” Arthur muttered back, remembering Morgana’s comment about Merlin avoiding a career in theatre.

“Nope,” Merlin said. “I’m getting my PhD in theology. No arts involved whatsoever.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up at the remark. He would have never pegged Merlin as that type. He could imagine Merlin on a Broadway stage, but never as a professor behind a desk. He had to stop himself from visibly shuddering at the thought.

“No way,” he said instead. “You? Theology? I don’t believe it.”

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted,” Merlin spoke up a bit to be heard through Mithian’s Whitney Houston impression. “Since it’s you, I’ll go with insulted.”

“What do you mean ‘since it’s me’?” Arthur questioned in a mocking tone. “I’ll have you know that I am a joy to be around. I received nothing but compliments until you showed up.”

“That’s because most people put up with your bullshit,” Merlin smirked. “I think they’re just blinded by your good looks. You’re far too pretty for your own good.”

Ignoring his moment of internal swooning, Arthur swallowed hard before saying “And are you immune to my stellar charms?”

Merlin bit the corner of his lip as he looked over at Arthur. “Not entirely.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Arthur winked, the back of his mind comprehending that this was a definite flirtation. Either that or this was a very strange almost-sort of-not quite friendship that he and Merlin had going on.

Unfortunately, exploring the query was out of the question for the moment, because Leon and his cursed sense of timing took that moment to appear at Arthur’s other shoulder just as Mithian’s dramatic performance came to a halt with an enthusiastic response from her fellow cast mates.

“Hey,” Leon greeted him with a raspy cough, probably left over from his flu. He gestured up to Mithian, who was taking a sweeping bow. “She’s good. Is she a lead?”

“She plays Eponine,” Arthur told him, trying not to let annoyance at being interrupted filter through his tone. It failed, as Leon was giving him a look. “Feeling better, I assume?”

Leon shrugged noncommittally. “Sort of. Who’s this?” He gestured to Merlin, who had remained quiet for all of fifteen seconds. Probably a new record for him.

“I’m Merlin,” the man snaked his hand around Arthur’s torso to shake Leon’s slightly larger one. “I’m in the show, one of Morgana’s friends.”

“Were you the one that spilled coffee on him?” Leon’s malicious grin mimicked Merlin’s as the two shared a laugh at Arthur’s expense.

“I need new friends,” Arthur grumbled under his breath as Leon began to recount an embarrassing tale from uni that involved Arthur, alcohol, a cappuccino machine, and a trampoline that had Merlin in stitches.

“So we are friends, then,” Merlin hiccupped into his hand as Leon finished his story with a self-satisfied smirk in Arthur’s direction. “Good to know.”

Arthur, still not happy with the laughter the story had produced (it was a horrible story, but Leon loved to tell it to whoever would listen), considered darkening Merlin’s existence with a Morgana-style glare. He decided against it on the pretense that his new friend’s mega-watt smile had just gone up a few bulbs at the comment.

He would have found a way to continue the conversation, but Morgana chose that moment to arrive with a grandeur entrance through the stage door that only she and her friends ever used. Her posse today was made up of Lancelot, Gwen, and a stage manager that Arthur was almost certainly called Elyan, which effectively cut off his discussion with Merlin, along with any other of Morgana’s followers that happened to show up.

So Merlin was up on stage, like a good little Morgana Minion, with Arthur and Leon up in their respective booths high above the actors. Still, thanks to Merlin’s expertise, Arthur at least had some semblance of an idea of what was happening beneath him, and could even follow along with the basic cues.

Not to mention the fifteen minutes Merlin spent up in the lighting booth with him once rehearsal had finished, in which Arthur got a Dos and Don’ts speech about working the spotlight. He wasn’t sure exactly how much he learned from that conversation about lighting. However, he did learn quite a bit about Merlin, like the way he talked with his hands, rambled when he was excited, and had a nervous tick of drumming his long fingers against the tabletop.

It was a productive evening, even if the spotlight remained a mystery in Arthur’s eyes.

* * *

 

At Thursday’s rehearsal, Leon invited Merlin to his and Arthur’s weekly ritual of Friday night drinks at the Dragon’s Head, despite Arthur’s pointed glares and obscene gestures as he did so. Arthur would never do it, he knew, he was too busy keeping up the disguise of mild tolerance and a slight friendship, a guise that might have gone on for the entirely of the summer if let be.

Leon knew this, which was why he had asked Merlin at first opportunity. Arthur should really sack Leon from the best friend position and be replaced by someone who would blindly worship and adore Arthur and adhere to his every whim.

Unfortunately, Arthur had no such power, and Merlin, damn him, had accepted the invitation readily with that frustrating smile on his face that was just begging to be wiped off.

Arthur wasn’t thinking about that, though. Not even a little bit. His feelings toward Merlin were a subject best put out of mind. Why did he always have to like the weird ones with big ears and ridiculous grins? Why?

Maybe he was a magnet or a homing beacon.

Either way, Merlin showed up at the Dragon’s Head around eight on Friday. As he walked in the door of the slightly busy pub, Arthur noted from their booth in the corner nursing a pint, he was not wearing the abysmal military-style jacket. Instead, his usual combination of frayed and torn jeans and a plain t-shirt was covered by a black leather jacket, a little too large on his skinny frame.

Didn’t change the fact that Arthur wiped his mouth to be certain he wasn’t salivating.

And the damnable Leon was smirking at him knowingly from across the booth. Perhaps Arthur should at least begin handing out applications for Leon’s inevitable replacement.

“Hey guys,” Merlin greeted them warmly as he strode across the bar and slid into the booth next to Arthur, brushing his fingers against his sleeve. “Thanks for the invite.”

“No problem,” Leon smiled back. “Glad to have someone else along. Gets rather monotonous with just Arthur and me here each week.”

“I suppose it would,” Merlin said. “Do either of you need another drink? I can cover a round.”

“That’d be great, thanks,” Leon responded. As he directed their normal drink orders to Merlin, Arthur attempted to burn a hole in Leon’s skull without actually conveying that it was a glare. He was proud, for if he had supernatural powers, he could have drilled to the center of his friend’s brain at the very least.

Unfortunately for him, he was not one of the X-Men and therefore Leon’s head remained perfectly intact, no matter how disgusting his smirk was while Merlin was up paying Killian at the bar.

Merlin headed back to the booth, a pint in each hand with another balanced between the two; he was treading with extreme care, although a bit still sloshed out of the side of one of them. Arthur, recalling the incident that led to his and Merlin’s less than stellar meeting, quickly detached himself from the booth and grabbed the third drink from his hands so as to not have a repeat performance.

Merlin looked profusely relieved until Arthur commented “Who’s the damsel in distress now, _Mer_ lin?”

“Still you,” Merlin replied easily as the pair slid back into the booth. Leon looked between them bemusedly as he slid him his drink. “Yesterday you forgot which switch was for the house lights and which was for the stage lights. Morgana was ranting about how you need adult supervision.”

Arthur glared while Merlin and Leon hid their laughs behind their drinks. It really hadn’t been his fault; he was low on sleep and Merlin had been onstage as a perfect distraction from whatever else might have been on Arthur’s mind…And it was the first day he actually had to use the lights during a rehearsal. So there.

“At least I didn’t trip and fall off the stage, you clumsy fool.”

Merlin sobered up. Leon snorted. Another occurrence of yesterday’s practice; Red and Black had become Red and Black and Blue, at least in Merlin’s case.

“So what’s with the change of wardrobe?” Arthur changed the subject, unable to keep himself from asking as he gestured at the leather jacket. “I thought you’d never take off that horrible coat.”

“Took it off for you, didn’t I?” Merlin winked and Arthur had to physically restrain himself from pouncing on him and doing something drastic about that smirk of his. “Not to worry, though, my jacket is well and safe; you shall be a witness to its return on Monday. This coat,” he pulled at the leather with distaste on his features. “Is entirely Gwaine’s fault. As are most things in my life, now that I think about it.”

“How is he to blame?” Arthur asked, mentally thanking Gwaine and singing his praises. Perhaps he should send flowers or chocolates to the man he’d probably exchange five words with.

“He decided that I need to ‘spice up my life’,” Merlin said, using air quotations accompanied by an eye roll. “His words, not mine. And I’m still not entirely sure how a leather jacket is supposed to achieve this result, but with Gwaine, it’s best not to ask questions.”

“I’ve talked to him a couple of times,” Leon commented. “Kind of know what you mean. He’s very…”

“Insane?” Merlin suggested. “Bizarre? Deranged? Batshit crazy?”

“All of the above,” Leon answered with a laugh. Arthur made a mental note to have a discussion with Gwaine sometime so that he would know exactly what Merlin and Leon meant by their comments.

“So you both work for Arthur’s father, right?” Merlin brought up a new topic. He actually seemed vaguely interested, a thought that Arthur knew would change to immense boredom if this subject lasted more than five minutes.

“Yep,” Leon answered. “It pays to be a friend to the Pendragon family, even if they can be annoying pests on occasion.”

“Oi!” Arthur said hotly as Merlin laughed. Damn both of them and their compulsive need to insult him.

“I was talking about Morgana and her powers of manipulation, drama queen,” Leon rolled his eyes exasperatingly in Arthur’s direction.

“Drama queen,” Merlin repeated with a growing smile. Arthur did not have a good feeling about the direction that this was heading. “I like it. But I really think he’s more of a princess than a queen.”

“I hate both of you,” Arthur said with a straight face as he took a particularly large swig of his drink. “So much. I should have never introduced you.”

“Whatever you say, princess,” Merlin patted Arthur’s shoulder as if offering condolences.

Four hours and quite a few drinks later, Arthur had been called princess a total of sixty-eight times, at least forty of them from Merlin and his smirk. Arthur had called him an idiot in retaliation no less than forty times. There had been countless arguments between them with Leon as the moderator and general peacekeeper; their discussions ranged from theatre to politics to religion. (Merlin’s area of expertise; Arthur learned that he was not actually religious himself, which was a bit of a shock for a soon-to-be doctor of theology.)

Despite their constant state of disagreement about the details of a subject, Arthur was surprised and a tiny bit pleased to find that Merlin shared almost all of his core values and principles. He would still argue with Arthur, though, just for the sake of arguing.

Leon had ducked out around eleven, claiming a headache. Merlin and Arthur stuck around until midnight; Arthur was pleasantly tipsy, but Merlin was in a state of drunkenness. Either he’d been sneaking extra pints when Arthur wasn’t looking, or he was an incredible lightweight. He’d tried to stumble out of the bar alone, but as Arthur had no obligations the next morning other than aspirin and caffeine in front of the television, he had insisted on walking Merlin back to his flat.

It wasn’t a game of ulterior motives in the slightest; Arthur was genuinely worried that Merlin would find some way to kill himself on the way home. He looked as if one good tap on the shoulder would do him in. It was for safety purposes only, perfectly noble in every way.

Although Merlin was making that promise to himself excruciatingly difficult by draping his arm around Arthur and tripping over thin air every three seconds, forcing Arthur to haul him back up on his feet once more.

“Here,” Merlin’s finger swayed slightly as he pointed up at a small apartment building complex a few minutes into their half-walk, half-stumble from the pub. The lights in the building were dark; apparently its residents had turned in early. His next words slurred slightly. “This is it.”

“Is Gwaine up there?” Arthur asked worriedly, still supporting Merlin. One of the tidbits of information had learned about Merlin that night was that he and Gwaine were flat mates, had been for years. And that they were decidedly not dating, as Merlin made a painful face when Arthur suggested it, a fact that pleased him far more than he was willing to admit.

But Merlin was oblivious as he leaned his entire body into Arthur’s, resting his head in the crook of his shoulder. “Yeah. Think so. His girlfriend, too.”

Arthur would have asked who the girlfriend was if Merlin was more coherent, but decided against it on the pretense of getting Merlin into the building and up to his bed. _Not like that, Christ._

“I’ll take you upstairs,” Arthur told him; Merlin muttered something incomprehensible into Arthur’s sleeve in response, which he took as a go signal. “Come on.”

Arthur shivered slightly as Merlin reached down and laced Arthur’s fingers with his own, intertwining them. His hands were icy cold and Arthur squeezed them tightly, hoping to convey some of his warmth into them as he led him up and into the building.

After some of Merlin’s slurred directions, Arthur found himself standing outside Room 306, still holding Merlin’s ice block of a hand.

“Here you go,” Arthur unhooked his fingers from Merlin’s. The other man made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded suspiciously like disappointment. But Arthur told himself that he was not to think about that.

He should really stop lying to himself about these things; the moment would easily be replayed in his head a dozen times before the night was through.

“Thanks,” Merlin’s smile was infallible even when drunk off his arse. He stood upright, taking the pressure off of the right side of Arthur’s body. “I like you, Arthur. You’re a good guy. M’sorry I called you a prick. Even though you are.”

“Shut up,” Arthur found a smile growing on his own face. It seemed that quirky charm of Merlin’s was also present during inebriation.

Breath caught in Arthur’s mouth as Merlin placed his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, looking at him with unreserved wonder in his eyes. He leaned forward, tilting his face in carefully, maintaining eye contact with Arthur all the while. Arthur angled forward to meet him, heart quickening pace, opening his mouth ever so slightly –

Merlin suddenly slipped over his own feet, propelling himself downward and into Arthur’s chest. Arthur felt his breathing and heartbeat return to normal rates once more, calming enough so that he could grasp Merlin’s shirt and pull him into a standing position once more.

A minute later, after Arthur helped Merlin into his tiny, barely furnished flat with minimal stumbling and no more opportunities for kissing, he found himself back in the hallway with only one thought reverberating in his skull.

_Fuck._

* * *

 

Arthur was watching reruns late the next morning, trying and failing not the think about the events that transpired the previous evening, when his phone buzzed from the coffee table. Sighing, he leaned forward to pick it up. It was from Merlin, and something twisted in his stomach. Would Merlin remember last night at all? He’d been particularly smashed, so Arthur wouldn’t doubt it. Had he actually meant to kiss Arthur or was he just a handsy drunk? The questions were killing him. He opened the text.

_11:47 AM_

_To: Arthur Pendragon_

_From: Merlin Emrys_

_I’m going to assume that I did something stupid last night and apologize. Drinking was a horrible decision. I blame myself entirely for whatever happened._

So he didn’t remember. Arthur wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

_11:48 AM_

_To: Merlin Emrys_

_From: Arthur Pendragon_

_Don’t worry, nothing too bad. Bit of a lightweight, aren’t you?_

_11:48 AM_

_To: Arthur Pendragon_

_From: Merlin Emrys_

_So much its embarrassing. Exactly what sort of apology am I aiming for here? Did I puke on your shoes? I hope not._

_11:50 AM_

_To: Merlin Emrys_

_From: Arthur Pendragon_

_No puking. Relax, its nothing I couldn’t handle. Gotta go, business lunch w/ my dad. Seeya on Mon?_

_11:51 AM_

_To: Arthur Pendragon_

_From: Merlin Emrys_

_Sorry anyway. Yeah, see ya!_

Arthur stared down at his phone for a moment, sighing in what even he would describe as an overdramatic fashion, worthy of even Morgana, the queen of such sighs. He hadn’t been lying; he was meeting Uther for lunch at one o’clock, something he was dreading profusely, as he did most instances with his father. But it had been a good excuse for ducking out of the conversation early.

He didn’t know why he refused to tell Merlin exactly what had happened outside his flat. It wouldn’t do him much good in the long run, keeping it to himself, and he really had been aiming for a kiss, that would be…well, that would be pretty great.

But there was always the possibility that it hadn’t an almost-kiss, that Merlin wasn’t even gay. It could have been a fluke, a freak accident of some sort. Arthur had encountered enough shitty relationship misunderstandings to last a few good years; avoidance of these things was the key to happiness.

Besides, if he brought up the subject, it might make things weird between the pair of them, which was definitely something that Arthur did not want to happen.  He _liked_ his friendship with Merlin, as annoying as the man could be, and to be honest, Arthur didn’t have many friends that he actually, genuinely enjoyed spending time with.

He was not going to screw this up with his might-be relationship delusions.

* * *

 

“So, how’s Merlin in bed?”

“Morgana! Stop talking!”

It had been a month since what Arthur now referred to as The Almost Incident. Nothing had happened since that night to even vaguely signify that Merlin even remembered what had transpired that night, and the two had no other extenuating circumstances that involved kisses or lack thereof.

Their friendship, however, had only grown. Not only did they see each other three times a week in practices (where Arthur could finally properly use all the equipment in the lighting booth thanks to Merlin’s tutelage), but Merlin was also a regular at his and Leon’s tradition of Friday nights at the Dragon’s Head, only with fewer drinks. He couldn’t decide if this was a disappointment or a relief.

Arthur had even helped Merlin run lines for the show on occasion. Although he begged off singing, he still spoke the lines, and it was always entertaining to watch Merlin perform. He told Arthur after one of these instances that if he had a voice, he would have made an excellent Enjolras. Arthur secretly preferred when he read for Cosette, although he wouldn’t admit that unless held at gunpoint.

All in all, they had a kind of camaraderie that Arthur had never before experienced with someone else. He enjoyed Merlin’s company immensely; it almost felt wrong as if he wasn’t there, and Arthur missed him when he wasn’t around, which was a strange and new feeling for the carefully-distanced-from-everyone Arthur that most people knew and tolerated.

With less than a week until the show’s opening night, Morgana had invited Arthur over for dinner on Sunday night. A small celebration, she had said, for Arthur sticking with his duties for so long, despite his endless stream of complaints.

Arthur should have known there would be an ulterior motive involved. What else could he expect from Morgana, the evil, cruel, tyrant of a queen ruling of her subjects, the Les Misérables cast and crew?

“What?” Morgana’s expression was far too innocent for her blatantly personal question. Arthur glared at her as they sat opposite one another at the glass table in her large, spacious flat, It was painted as black as tis owners soul, devoid of all color. It was one of the endless reasons that were on Arthur’s list of why he avoided visiting his sister. “I’ve always wondered.”

“Then find out yourself!” Arthur shot at her, despite the fact that those images in his mind made him feel as if he would never sleep again. “For the millionth time, I’m not shagging him.”

“But you want to,” Morgana’s smug smile would rival even Leon’s, who was the king to Morgana’s queen in the world of smugness.

“I do not!” Arthur nearly growled as the oven dinged loudly in the attached kitchen. He hoped for a brief reprieve of this Morgana-style interrogation, but it was not be. Morgana ignored her roasted cauliflower in favor of being her harpy-like self, giving Arthur a predatory look.

Sighing and knowing that he would have no choice but to divulge information to her, he relented. “I don’t even know if he swings that way.”

It was the truth. Merlin’s sexuality was a bit of mystery Arthur knew he could ask around, but he didn’t necessarily want to subject himself to the rumor mill of the community theatre; most of the cast was already under the impression that they were sleeping together. Adding fuel to the fire was not Arthur’s idea of a good and proper plan.

Morgana, it seemed, was to be his saving grace in this situation though, no matter how distinctly wrong that statement sounded. “He does.”

Arthur swallowed hard, desperately hoping that Morgana couldn’t use her witching powers to see how his heart rate had just sped up considerably. “Really? That’s...well...that’s…”

“Fantastic?” Morgana suggested. “Gwaine tells me that Merlin has asked about your preferences. And that Merlin has made it more than clear that he likes you. A lot.”

“Is that so?” Arthur fought hard to keep his voice emotionless, even though he was itching to jump up and punch the air. “Uh, and you said what, exactly?”

“I laughed and said we should let the two of you work this out for yourselves,” Morgana shrugged with elegance. “That was a week ago. I clearly overestimated you, for obviously you’re in desperate need of assistance here.”

Arthur opened his mouth, forming a snappy retort, before realizing that she was probably right. Dammit, he hated it when Morgana was right.

“Are you planning on doing something with this information?” She continued, arching a plucked eyebrow at him. “Or will I need to resort to drastic measures?”

Arthur had to spend the remaining hours of the evening convincing Morgana that no, she did not need to interfere, that her idea of drastic measures was entirely unnecessary in every possible way, that he would actually put this newfound discovery to use; that he had a plan.

And for once, he wasn’t lying.

* * *

 

He didn’t actually put this plan into action immediately.

Not that it was a plan, per say. It was more like a basic outline. Regardless, Arthur wouldn’t have to do anything particularly world-shattering until opening night; well, that was if he followed his _outline_. Maybe outline stretched it a bit, too. Idea? That was better. Much vaguer.

A bouquet of flowers after the first show was a good course of action; it would make his feelings toward Merlin clear. Right?

He wasn’t sure, but it was the best idea he had. Besides, all actors liked getting flowers after a show. Morgana had. Not that Arthur had ever bought her any, but Uther tended to send his personal assistant to buy her roses after her performances back in school, so it wasn’t a completely useless idea.

He knew that Merlin could tell that something was up with him because he kept casting Arthur odd, almost worrying looks during the final rehearsals leading up to Friday night’s show.  Maybe it was due to the reason that Arthur’s smile was much more present that week; Merlin was the usual suspect in the Olympic games of too much happiness showing. Arthur was more of a scowl-friendly being.

But right now, Arthur couldn’t help himself from quirking his lips upward at the slightest notion. He was _excited._ So beyond excited that it almost frightened him. It had been years since he’d found a person that he cared for on this level, and now he had confirmation that the feelings were mutual.

Not that there weren’t any trickling doubts, for there were. But Arthur was pretty sure that they were unfounded. Morgana, while she was a conniving demon, wouldn’t lie to Arthur about something like this. It just wasn’t in her repertoire.

With practices coming to a close and opening night fast approaching, tempers were running high in all cast and crew members. Finalizations to the nineteenth century French set and the period costumes were being made, tweaks in any of the actors’ cues were being made, nerves were abounding rampantly, and Morgana was screaming at everyone in sight.

The dress rehearsal on Thursday, night before the show, was an absolute train wreck. Arthur missed six of his lighting cues – Morgana was going to string up by his ears up in the rafters – Leon had come in late with four different sound effects, Gwen had missed quite a few notes on more than one song, and almost everyone in the cast was off-key at one point or another.  It was such a disaster that Arthur, who previously thought that the show would at least have a halfway decent opening night, was now of the opinion that they were going to crash and burn.

It seemed as if, despite these things, Arthur was the only one of that sentiment, the cast started grinning and applauding loudly, even Morgana, whom he had thought would be near her breaking point at the finish of the practice.

 Arthur stepped out of the lighting booth, trying not to trip over his briefcase that was lying on the ground, leftover from his day at the office, and onto the staircase that led down the aisle into the seats – he still thought the size of this place was rather pathetic – meeting Leon, who had just exited the sound booth. Judging by the expression on Leon’s face, Arthur wasn’t the only one confused by this turn of events.

As the cast was dispersing off the stage, Morgana turned back to look at Arthur and Leon from her perch upon Gwen’s piano bench, where it appeared as if she had just finished speaking to her, for Gwen nodded with a smile to Morgana’s words before beginning to gather her sheet music.

“Terrible dress rehearsal means great opening night!” Morgana called up to them, obviously sensing their utter bewilderment. Arthur shook his head, bemused at the superstitions of theatre people. They made no sense whatsoever.

Morgana had called for the whole cast’s attention now, and ears perked in her direction. “Great job, everybody. Be here at five o’clock sharp tomorrow for make-up and costume check!”

The group slowly dissembled themselves from one another, some heading out the door and others to slip out of their revolutionary clothing. Arthur, who as always, had work the following day, was one of the first out the door. His eyes had searched out for Merlin momentarily, wanting to wish him good luck, but the other man wasn’t in sight.

Merlin had been nervous during the rehearsal, Arthur could tell that even from up in his booth. The smile drooping off of his usually sunny disposition was a dead giveaway. Well, he never smiled during the Empty Chairs at Empty Tables scene, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that Merlin had been shaky, jumpy, and a tad off-key, the last of which was a true rarity.

Figuring that he’d have to catch Merlin before the performance the next day – which had nothing to do with his wooing idea, which was after the show was through – Arthur slipped away, Leon staying behind to talk to Percival, whom he had made a casual friend of during the last weeks. Nodding to their long-suffering janitor on his way out the door, Arthur headed across the street to his shiny silver Lexus.

It was only when he had driven halfway to his flat that Arthur came to the sudden realization that his briefcase was still up in the lighting booth. Normally, he would just shrug it off and go pick it up the next day, but there was paperwork in there that was necessary for tomorrow’s early morning board meeting. Uther would break his spine if he arrived unprepared.

And so it was with a bitter attitude and a few choice words muttered under his breath, Arthur did an illegal U-turn and headed back in the direction of the Box, hoping that either someone would still be there to let him in or that Morgana had conveniently forgotten to lock the door behind her as she left.

The street that the theater resided on was basically devoid of cars, meaning that Arthur’s chances of getting back into the building were becoming slimmer by the second. Swerving directly in front of the doorway, he parked and hurried up to the door, begging any god out there for a small favor.

Apparently someone was listening, for the door clicked open at once. Arthur let out a deep sigh of relief and sent out a quick thank you before letting himself inside.

“Morgana?” He called out into the darkness as the door glided shut behind him. He walked cautiously down the empty and barely illuminated hallway. No lights were left on that were visible from his vantage point, which made Arthur wonder if his sister was actually here or if she had actually spaced off locking the door as he had hoped.

“Arthur?” He heard a voice that most definitely did not belong to Morgana. Rounding the corner that led to the auditorium, he was shocked to see Merlin sitting on the edge of the stage, feet dangling from the edge with the lights around him dimmed. Upon closer look, Merlin appeared sweaty and shaky, even paler than usual as he tightened his military jacket around his skinny figure in a defensive way, regarding Arthur with cerulean eyes. “Morgana left already, gave me the keys to lock up when I’m done.”

“Done with what?” Briefcase all but forgotten, Arthur strode forward before hoisting himself onto the stage to sit beside Merlin, who was, Arthur noted with dread, decidedly not smiling.

“Freaking out,” Merlin’s hand brushed against Arthur’s, their pinky fingers resting beside each other. “I do this every year before opening night. Make myself sick with nerves.”

Arthur found himself subconsciously putting an arm around Merlin’s narrow shoulders, drawing him into his side, and reminiscent of the night the drunken Merlin had leaned into Arthur, he did so tonight as well. Arthur’s grip tightened marginally.

“Why?” Arthur asked. “You’re going to be great.”

“Thanks for the support,” Merlin chuckled weakly under his breath. “It’s entirely unfounded I know, but it’s the only performance I ever worry about. And it’s only leading up to it; I’ll be my old self as soon as the lights come up tomorrow night.”

Merlin suddenly seemed very small. It occurred to Arthur that in all his time spent getting to know Merlin; he had never actually stopped to think about stage fright. Merlin seemed like the kind of person who had fear, but never let it interfere in his business. Which, Arthur supposed, was what he was doing right at this very moment; dealing with the terror now so that he would be able to ignore it tomorrow.

“Why are you in the theatre?”

“Calms me down, strangle enough,” Merlin said. “I don’t really know. I just feel less anxious in here.”

“I have no idea what to make of that,” was Arthur’s honest reply. It made Merlin laugh into his shoulder, so that was something. “Wouldn’t you feel better…I don’t know, not thinking about it? Distracting yourself with alcohol and bad television?”

“That would make more sense,” Merlin replied. “But it’s just…it’s easier to be in here, I suppose. So I don’t know what to make out of it either. I’m probably just weird.”

“You’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met,” Arthur chuckled. After a beat of silence without a response, he asked, “Anything I can do to help?”

“You’re already helping just by being here,” Merlin lifted his head up to smile at Arthur. It wasn’t his usual beaming megawatt grin, though. It was softer, more personal in a way. “With you…I know it’ll all be fine.”

Something changed in Merlin’s eyes as he leaned toward Arthur hesitantly, not breaking eye contact except for a brief moment when his eyes flickered down to Arthur’s lips. Arthur, heart about to leap out of his chest, wasn’t patient enough for this. He surged forward, meeting Merlin’s mouth with his own.

 _His lips are just as cold as his hands,_ was Arthur’s last coherent thought as Merlin began to reciprocate the kiss, reaching hands up to tangle in Arthur’s hair. Arthur sighed contentedly as they broke apart and Merlin looked at him, eyes wide, smiling, and still a touch shy.

“You’re freezing,” were Arthur’s first words as he pulled Merlin back into his side, tightening the rumpled jacket around his frame. Merlin made no move to stop him. “You’re sweating and yet you’re still cold as ice. Does this thing give you any warmth at all?”

“Not really,” Merlin admitted with a grin. “But it’s still my jacket and I still like it, no matter how many times you insult it.”

“And I’ll insult it a bit more,” Arthur fought to keep laughter out of his voice. “It’s ugly, atrocious, and horrific, you look absolutely terrible –”

Arthur was cut off as Merlin smothered his next words with another kiss, this one deeper and with much less breathing involved. Coming up for air, Arthur gasped out “You ruined my plan, you know.”

“What plan?” Merlin pulled away, lips pink and, Arthur was pleased to say, much warmer.

“I was going to buy you flowers tomorrow,” Arthur said. “Give them to you after the performance and possibly ask you out.”

“Nice and proper, aren’t you?” Merlin murmured as his head dipped down and he nipped at Arthur’s neck, causing Arthur to let out a shuddering gasp. “Perfect gentlemen.”

“That’s me,” Arthur agreed as Merlin kissed his way back to Arthur’s mouth. “Still – Still feeling nervous?”

“Much less so,” Merlin’s face pulled away, but Arthur hurriedly brought him back into his arms. “You’re a good distraction.”

“What else can I do to distract you?” That sounded more like a come-on in Arthur’s head than it had out loud, but oh well; Merlin’s smile was growing in a devious manner.

“Ever tried fucking in the lighting booth?” He asked, feigning casualness. Arthur’s glance at him was incredulous yet excited. He definitely hadn’t come in here expected to be propositioned by the summer-long object of his affections tonight. “I haven’t, but it sounds very intriguing.”

“I’m a gentleman, remember?” Arthur pointed out. Merlin raised an eyebrow at him. It wasn’t fair how that single action could cause a reevaluation. “But I guess an exception could be made.”

“Could be,” Merlin chuckled as he grabbed the lapels of Arthur’s shirt, pulling him off the stage and toward the staircase.

Merlin’s nerves were forgotten.

So was Arthur’s briefcase.

* * *

 

Even though his plan was foiled, Arthur still bought flowers.

He wasn’t sure that it counted as a romantic gesture, since Merlin was with him when they were purchased. (“Roses are terribly cliché, if you insist on giving me flowers, at least go with lilies. Oh, I need to buy some for Morgana! Yes, so do you, Arthur, buying the director flowers is not an option.”)

This was after, of course, a night spent up in the lighting booth. A wonderful, unforgettable night that would make Arthur never look at his switchboard the same way again.

 In fact, he would probably have quite a few issues trying to concentrate on the night’s show.

He ended up calling in sick to work, something he hadn’t done in over a year. Maybe Morgana was right when she said he spent too much time there. His abrupt decision probably sent George, his uptight assistant, into cardiac arrest with the shock of it all. But he, and the company, could function without Arthur for the day. They had Leon, after all, and while he was not nearly as capable or as good-looking as Arthur, he was still a damn good employee.

And thus he spent the day with Merlin, ensuring that his nerves would not plight him He got his friend –Lover? Boyfriend? – To admit that each time he’d been a lead in one of the community productions, of which this was his fourth, he had spent the vast majority of the day hurling over a toilet bowl. Arthur in turn insisted on being the best distract there had ever been.

Their visit to the flower shop had actually been a bit of a break from the distraction process.

So as to not wreck any other equipment in the lighting booth – Merlin hadn’t gotten any more coordinated – They ended up back at Arthur’s large, spacious, roommate-less flat to take part in activities that Morgana would probably hospitalize both of them for doing in her precious theatre.

Arthur also had a disastrous attempt at making lunch that ended in flames and ashes. Merlin reassured him that he was too anxious to eat, anyway.

That led to more illicit situations that would not be mentioned in the vicinity of Morgana.

At a quarter to five, they both reluctantly headed to the Box, bouquets of flowers in hand. Upon arrival, Merlin immediately rushed to Morgana, sweeping her up off the ground. He was much stronger than he appeared. (Arthur would consider himself a foremost expert on this subject now.) She screamed and cursed, but quieted down when Merlin presented her with a bouquet of yellow tulips. Arthur made a less conspicuous entrance, thrusting Morgana his own flowers, saying he had no choice in the matter and that she shouldn’t take it personally, as they were still archrivals.

She just smirked and raised an eyebrow in Merlin’s direction. He stuck his tongue out childishly in return. Merlin was really rubbing off on him.

Arthur whispered “break a leg” to Merlin just as he was about to follow Gwaine, who had a smug expression on his features that matched Morgana’s perfectly. Arthur made a mental note to set them up sometime.

Merlin gave him a shaky smile and a thumbs up sign in return. Arthur wished he could be backstage beforehand, but he need to go triple-check everything up in the lighting booth, as per Morgana’s nagging.

And Arthur knew that it was a bit messy up there and that his sister, under no circumstances, could know what caused it.

So he got to work.

The show started at half past six, but the audience began trickling in far before that. Arthur had the houselights up and stage lights down, knowing he’d have to be very quick about switching the positions of the levers when Morgana gave him his cue.

The cue came about five minutes after the show was supposed to start from Morgana standing in the left wing. He hurriedly swapped the positions of the lights as he saw the curtain reeled to the sides.

The first act was a raging success. Tristan’s voice was strong and clear, not missing a single note, Isolde’s rendition of I Dreamed a Dream probably reduced some of the audience to tears, and Lancelot’s Javert had never been more spot-on.

Arthur himself managed to hit every single one of his cues, believe it or not.

The second act, if possible, was even better than the first. If he hadn’t seen Merlin himself, Arthur wouldn’t’ believe that the man had ever been overridden with nerves. All of his songs went wonderfully, his interactions with Freya as Cossette, Mithian as Eponine, and Percival as Enjolras were all so genuine and believable. Even if Arthur didn’t particularly enjoy the Cossette scenes to any extent. Not to mention that his performance of Empty Chairs at Empty Tables was the strongest it had ever been, with more than one tear streaking down Merlin’s cheeks.

Arthur almost missed a cue there, but he caught it in time. That was the important thing, right?

Before he knew it, the cast was coming out on stage for final bows. They got a standing ovation from the audience that was most assuredly deserved. Arthur whooped and clapped form his place in the booth. He noticed Merlin grinning from ear to ear in happiness as the deafening applause cascaded over the cast.

Morgana was called out for a round of applause, and they even gestured up to Arthur and Leon above the auditorium seats and Arthur, although Morgana would never be aware of it, was almost proud of himself.

He dimmed the lights on the stage after that, bringing up the ones in the house as he did so.

Just as he was about to exit the lighting booth to go and offer congratulations, Arthur noticed a touch of black in his peripheral vision that did not belong.

He laughed out loud when he saw Merlin’s horribly rumpled jacket in a heap at the corner of the room. He had thought there was something that had been missing today, and this was obviously it. Merlin wasn’t Merlin without his awful dress sense.

Grabbing it without a thought, Arthur headed out of the booth to find Leon leaving the sound booth at the same time. He didn’t say a word about the jacket clutched in Arthur’s hand, just smile knowingly. Arthur really needed new friends.

He hurried down the stairs, possibly skipping one or two, in an attempt to avoid Leon’s gaze. Making his way through the throng of audience, cast, and crew alike, many of them laughing and embracing one another in a congratulatory fashion, he looked for the ever-elusive Merlin.

Feeling a tap on his shoulder as he peered around a group of the barricade boy actors, he whirled around to face Merlin, who had a sheepish smile on his face. His stage make-up made him look slightly ridiculous without all the lights on him, but Arthur could really care less at the moment. (That didn’t mean he wouldn’t tease him later, though. Because he definitely would.)

“That was amazing!” He pulled Merlin into his side with a tight hug, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Great job!”

“Yeah, well,” Merlin shrugged as his cheeks turned pink, but Arthur could tell how happy he was. Merlin’s eyes suddenly flickered down in confusion – Oh, right, Arthur was still holding his jacket. “What’s that?”

“You left it up in the booth,” Arthur willed his complexion to stay the same color and not become burgundy as it was threatening to. They had an audience of their own now; Arthur had noticed out of the corner of his eye that Morgana, Gwaine, and Leon were watching them like hawks from a short distance away.

Merlin’s smile became even more pronounced, a feat that shouldn’t have been possible. He took the jacket and shrugged it over his Marius costume, which made him look so unbelievably ridiculous that Arthur really had no choice in what to do next.

Bridging the gap between them in one swift motion, Arthur threw is arms around Merlin’s shoulders and kissed him full on the mouth. Merlin smiled into the kiss and Arthur tried to ignore the scatters ‘aww’s and ‘finally’s coming from the cast and crew, many of which seemed to have joined their friends in watching the spectacle.

It occurred to Arthur that in the course of six weeks, he had actually grown to love this place – the people, the songs, the laughter, and especially Merlin. Arthur truly loved this theatre.

But if anyone ever told Morgana that, he would deny it endlessly. Arthur doubted he could deal with her smirking over two things at once. The world just wasn’t prepared for that to happen. 


End file.
